


epiphanic

by bucketfulloffandom



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Confessions, Feelings Realization, M/M, Mentions of other skaters, damn teenagers! swearing all the fucking time!, just to give u an idea of what this is, nathan is too pretty, rated for language, supportive father adam, the google doc title of this is gay panic.doc, vincent doesn't know how to function as a normal damn human being
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-22 22:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketfulloffandom/pseuds/bucketfulloffandom
Summary: adj. of or having the character of an epiphany (a moment of sudden and great revelation or realization)Vincent's problem-solving abilities go out the window.





	epiphanic

**Author's Note:**

> sorry about this mom x2
> 
> i cracked the code, vincent/nathan is the superior ship, it was right here in front of our eyes all along. also remember when i thought that yuzsho fic would be the only figure skating fic i'd write? woops. disappointed but not surprised.jpg
> 
> anyways here's this, written in about two sittings and not very uhhhhhhhhh gr8 but i know people want more nathan content and i want more vincent content so. kill two birds with one stone right. 
> 
> as always kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! y'all in the figure skating rpf tag are really nice i want u to know that

Vincent has a problem.

This is not a new concept—everyday has a new problem for Vincent just waiting to be uncovered—but the content of today’s conundrum is remarkably different from the usual.

Vincent’s problem today is that he has suddenly realized a very bad crush on his teammate.

Vincent’s problem today is that he has a crush on Nathan Chen.

He realizes this problem during an informal practice session, when Nathan, still strung out from his short program during the team event and tense in anticipation of the upcoming singles, is skating ceaseless circles around the rink as Vincent watches from the stands.

It’s just the two of them and that Russian skater Mikhail, who had shown up about ten minutes ago, stopped short at the sight of Nathan on the ice, and has not since moved from his awkward position at the entrance to the rink. Vincent figures the poor guy is too uncomfortable to practice while Nathan does, but also isn’t prepared to leave just yet.

Vincent’s attention is drawn back to Nathan when he hears the distinctive scrape of blades on ice as the older sets up for a jump. He launches into the air in a triple, lands perfectly. Vincent woops.

Nathan looks his way, expression surprised, as if he’d forgotten he has an audience. His eyes find Vincent’s, and, unexpectedly, he breaks into a wide grin.

 _Badum_.

Vincent blinks. Nathan flashes him a peace sign before turning back to his skating. He transitions smoothly into a slow, easy spin, arms reaching upwards, towards the ceiling far above their heads.

_Badum._

Nathan releases from his spin with a flourish. His eyes are shut and his face is still alight with the kind of smile that comes from someone letting go of all their worries, if only for a moment.

 _Badum_.

Vincent glances over at Mikhail - surely it’s not just him suddenly mesmerized by what he’s seeing. The Russian skater is fussing with the laces of his skates. Nathan glides by, silent save for his blades whispering against the ice.

 _Badum_.

Vincent forces himself to move, rips his feet from where they’re planted firmly to the ground and carries himself away, away, away, not even sure where he’s going, until he finds himself in some back hall of the arena, where his footsteps echo and some of the lightbulbs flicker like they haven’t been changed in a very long time.

He slows to a stop, shuffles over to a random bench and sits down.

 _Okay, so this is a thing_.

For what feels like the first time in his life, Vincent has no idea what to do. No amount of honor rolls or presidential awards for academic achievement ever accounted for this, and _oh god, this is what I get for being a social recluse of a nerd, isn’t it._

He tries to sort through it rationally: Nathan is his friend and his teammate, but also his opponent. That makes sense - they compete against each other on the ice, but they work together from time to time, train together occasionally. They’re friends because of their shared love for figure skating, their shared experience in having so much on their shoulders as mere teenagers. That makes sense.

He keeps thinking: Nathan is funny, and incredibly talented. That’s a fact. That makes sense. Nathan is funny, and his soft, high-pitched laughter is infectious, and today when he smiled at Vincent, his heart leapt into his throat and he, somehow, despite the basic biology of his body functioning towards keeping him alive, forgot how to breathe for a moment. That makes less sense.

 _I can’t be gay,_ he thinks. Then he cringes at himself. _No, not like that. I mean- I like girls. Girls are great. I don’t- what?_

Later, he will remember that bisexuality and pansexuality are definitely things that exist. At the moment, it’s all just a little too much to process. So much for that genius brain of his.

Vincent drags a hand down his face, resisting the urge to scream into his palms.

This is definitely not what he needs right now.

 

* * *

 

“Adam?” No response. Vincent knocks again, a little harder. “Adam, are you there? Adam-”

The door swings open, and Vincent is greeted by a slightly flustered Adam Rippon, which is a bit strange, because Adam is rarely flustered. “Oh, hey, Vincent!” Adam’s slim figure somehow takes up the entire doorframe so that Vincent can’t see into the room. If he wasn’t so worked up, this would seem suspicious. As it is, though, Vincent’s head still feels like he’s just finished a free skate comprised entirely of spins, and he thinks nothing of it.

“What’s up, buddy?” Adam asks. When Vincent hesitates for a moment, the older man’s brows knit together. “Something bothering you?”

“Well,” Vincent begins. He realizes immediately he doesn’t know where to start. “I, uh.”

There’s a long silence. Adam clears his throat and nods sagely. “I see. That’s rough, kid.”

Vincent feels heat rising in his cheeks. “Okay, no, well, you see.” He shakes his head in an attempt to clear his addled thoughts, but it does little to ease the swirling inner monologue that’s mostly just _Nathan! Nathan! Nathan!_

“I don’t, really-”

“I think I have a crush on Nathan and it’s really weird because for one I’ve never liked boys and secondly it’s Nathan and that’s really weird but he smiled at me today and it freaked me out and I’ve been thinking about it all day and he’s really cute and I think I like him and you’re, like, the expert I guess and _help_.”

Adam stares at him blankly for what feels like an eternity. He seems to be gawking just the slightest bit. Vincent returns the look, breathing hard.

There’s the clatter of something falling to the floor in the room beyond Adam and a muffled “ _oh, fuck_ ”,  and Vincent recognizes that voice.

 _Oh, fuck_ is right.

Vincent pushes past Adam into the room before he even realizes what he’s doing, and hanging half off the unmade bed, reaching for his phone on the ground, is Nathan, because _of course_ it’s Nathan, right here, right now. Hearing everything. _Of course_.

“Uh.” The ground spins under Vincent.

Nathan’s eyes shoot up towards him; Vincent can’t tell if his expression is mortified or surprised or something else entirely. Either way, Nathan grabs his phone and scrambles to his feet, dusting himself off. “Hey, Vincent,” he says without actually looking at him. “I was just about to go, were you gonna talk to Adam? Go ahead. I’m good. Yeah.”

 _He’s pretending he didn’t hear anything,_ Vincent realizes. That’s not a good feeling in his stomach. He stares, frozen, as Nathan brushes past him, murmuring something that might be _thank you_ or _sorry_ to Adam as he goes. There’s a long silence, then the door closes, too loud in the quiet hotel room.

“Sorry about that,” Adam says softly. He sits down delicately on the bed, pats the spot next to him. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you he was here - I didn’t think I’d have to.” Vincent arches a brow. “Poor guy would have been embarrassed, you know that. He doesn’t like to admit even he needs help every once in a while.”

Sitting down on the bed next to Adam, the mattress squeaking with the added weight, Vincent nods, because that makes sense. He does, in fact, know how Nathan is.

(Oh god, Nathan.)

“Fuck,” he says out loud.

Adam stifles a laugh. “Hey, language, kid.”

“You swear around me all the time,” Vincent points out. Adam can’t argue that. “And I think I have the right to at the moment, anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Adam smiles that winning smile of his. “You know, I don’t think you need to be that worried.”

“Yeah, right,” Vincent mutters. “He heard me talk about my weird crush on him. We are at the Olympics. In Korea. And he heard me talking about how cute he is. And then he practically ran out of here- oh my god, I really fucked this up, Adam.” He feels like he could just about pull out every hair in his head. “ _Shit_ , man.”

Adam, bless his soul, lays a comforting hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “I understand your concern,” he begins, which is a weird way to start the kind of conversation Vincent thinks they’re about to have. “But I think you’d be pleasantly surprised.”

Vincent looks sharply at Adam, who smiles knowingly. “Elaborate, please?”

“I don’t usually like to break confidentiality,” Adam sighs, “but for you, my special boy, I will.” He folds his hands in his lap judiciously. “Basically, our little star there was feeling horrible about his short program and _still_ blaming himself for not ‘doing well enough’ and all that nonsense - you know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t look at me like that - but because he does still have a smidgen of self-respect he came to yours truly to talk about it. Yes, I talked some sense into him,” he adds when Vincent opens his mouth.

Vincent pouts, put-off by how easily Adam reads him all the time.

“He talked about you quite a bit, you know,” Adam adds.

That catches Vincent’s attention.

“Said they should have had you skate the short program- he admires you a lot more than I think you realize. I think he’s scared of what you could do and what you think of him.”

“What the hell does that me-” Vincent cuts himself off, remembering his unintentional distance in the time immediately following the team event (caused mostly by his overwhelming desire to pour all his emotions onto the pages of his diary, disregarding everything around him), his abrupt exit earlier today. _Fuck, I didn’t even let him know I was leaving. Fuck, I’m a dick._

Adam pats his back. “Don’t you start beating yourself up, too. I can only handle one angsty teen a day.” He grins at the weak laugh that draws out of Vincent. “He cares so much because you mean a lot to him. He didn’t dip just now because he doesn’t want to talk to you. He just doesn’t know how to.”

 _Well, that makes two of us_ , Vincent thinks.

Like he’s read his mind, Adam says, “Listen. Just give it a day or two. Get some rest, clear your head. You’re smart - too damn smart, if you ask me - you’ll know when to talk about it.” He ruffles Vincent’s hair with one hand, ignoring his protests.

Vincent tries unsuccessfully to smooth his hair back down, glaring at Adam, but he already feels better. Leave it to Adam the miracle worker.

“Let him give you a chance. You’ll appreciate it.”

 

* * *

 

That chance, as it turns out, is Saturday evening, after the excitement of history-making and record-setting and placements and quad after quad after quad is over, leaving Vincent sitting in the dining hall at 11 PM mulling over a bowl of soup that’s nothing like what his mother makes at home in their tiny, familiar apartment but comforting nonetheless.

The giant room is mostly empty except for a few athletes milling around at the other end of the hall, none of which seem too eager to talk to Vincent. He’s fine with that.

His soup is almost room temperature when a body slips into the seat across the table from him and a voice says, “Hey, Vincent, can we talk?”

Vincent’s soul leaves his body. There are worried lines in Nathan’s forehead as he looks at him, eyes searching, earnest. His face reads of lost sleep and unrealized relief. His hair is a mess even without the length and the curls.

And _fuck, he’s still beautiful._

“Hey,” Vincent says dumbly.

Nathan reaches across the table in an aborted motion, hands coming just short of Vincent’s own. “Hey, man, I… I wanted to apologize? For ditching the other day, I mean. And just in general. I didn’t mean to be a dick about it.”

Vincent blinks at him. He’s a little too distracted by how close Nathan’s hands are, how easy it’d be to reach forward and take them, how good Nathan looks even though this has got to have been one of the most strenuous days of his life, how much he likes him and how much he’s aware of that fact right now, to formulate a proper response.

(It doesn’t really make sense.)

“I heard what you told Adam,” Nathan continues when Vincent doesn’t say anything. “And I’m not- I left because I didn’t know what to do, not because I was like, grossed out or something.” His voice picks up a slowly but steadily more frantic tone. “I felt really bad afterwards but at that point I couldn’t just come back, and I really meant to talk to you sooner, but you know, all the preparation for the men’s event, and I never could find the right time…” He trails off, frown lines deepening. “Shit, man. I’m sorry.” He looks down, at their hands, back up at Vincent.

Vincent pictures himself as the deer in the headlights, staring down his impending doom as it races closer and closer, inevitable, but he’s stuck in place-

Nathan’s hands fold over Vincent’s, warm and calloused. “If you were serious about the whole liking me thing…”

Vincent tries to nod through the incoherent inner monologue of _Nathannathannathannathanisholdingyourhandnathannathannathan!!!!!_ and isn’t sure if the action actually made it out of his motor cortex.

Either way, Nathan takes a deep breath and says on an exhale, “That’s… cool. It’s, uh, cool. Because - ah, fuck, this is so cringy, I’m sorry - I like you too?” He gulps, and says it again, like an affirmation: “I like you too.”

Vincent feels the impact of those stuttered, halting words like a truck slamming into him at 60 miles per hour. It snaps him out of his reverie, and suddenly the world is tilting a full 24 degrees instead of its usual 23.5 and everything is just the slightest bit more intense, the contrasts a little sharper, and Nathan’s skin is warm where it meets Vincent’s, and he thinks he’s losing his mind because since when did Vincent Zhou like _any_ person this much?

“Did Adam set you up for this?” is the first thing out of his mouth, which is really stupid but it’s too late now.

Nathan blinks, then lets out a single bark of a laugh. “What- no,” he says. “Adam-? No.”

“Okay, good.” Vincent is slowly starting to regain the ability to breathe properly, but the way the beginnings of a smile are starting to creep onto Nathan’s lips is not helping the relearning process. “I wouldn’t put it past him, you know?” He pauses. “Okay.” Nathan is holding his hands. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Nathan agrees.

Vincent snorts. “This is… dumb, dude.”

Nathan looks at Vincent’s half-empty bowl of soup, at the snowboarders down by the water cooler completely oblivious to the events unfolding at the shitty folding table the two of them are seated at, at Vincent, then beams and says, “I guess it is.”

Vincent usually despises dumb things.

(Nathan grins, hopeful.)

This, however, he can make an exception for.

**Author's Note:**

> oh god why did this end up so long and so mediocre


End file.
